


you should see me in a crown

by soixantecroissants



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, a bodyguard au of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soixantecroissants/pseuds/soixantecroissants
Summary: “Rule number one on the job,” said Curtis, with a great deal more patience than Frank strictly deserved. “You gotta learn how to stand still in a suit.”





	1. bite my tongue, bide my time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [garglyswoof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/garglyswoof/gifts).



> Based on the word prompt 'dinner.'

"You want to try not fidgeting over there?"

Frank scowled at his friend but did as he was told, smoothing out his lapels one last time before folding his hands together in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a while."

"Rule number one on the job," said Curtis, with a great deal more patience than he strictly deserved. "You gotta learn how to stand still in a suit."

"Right," muttered Frank absentmindedly, scanning the crowd while his trigger finger tap, tap, tapped away, carefully covering the movement with his other hand. People were coming through from all sides, dressed to the nines and hardly sparing a glance for the men guarding the door. "Look, Curt, I, uh – I know I haven't really thanked you, for puttin' in a good word with Madani."

"You didn't," said Curtis, with a sidelong smirk in his direction. "But you're welcome. Wasn't hard, anyway. She was more than ready to have you back on the team." He gave a shrug and looked casually elsewhere for a moment, nodding politely at a couple that passed them. "So was I, I guess."

"Ah." Frank waved him off, crossing his arms and glancing down toward Fifth Ave. All the black service cars looked the same from the top of the stairs, which would make it that much easier to spot Fisk's white Escalade when it arrived. "You always were a big old softie."

Curtis outright chuckled at that. "Don't even pretend like you didn't miss me too."

They were silent for a while after that, taking in their surroundings as the swarm of people started to thin. Trust Fisk and his family to make a late entrance, thought Frank, and he knew Curtis was mulling over the same. His friend got winked at more than once by a few of the older ladies, but the smile he gave them was tight, distracted.

 _There_ , boomed a sudden voice in Frank's ear, and he grimaced at the accompanying feedback. Chrissakes, Lieberman. _Turning down East 85th. Do you see it? Copy._

"Where'd you find this guy?" grumbled Frank, and he smirked at the noise David made in protest on the other end. "Yeah, I see it."

"You good?" said Curtis, as the Escalade came to a stop at the light on 83rd. Frank gave him a brief nod, gaze never straying from the car. "You got this."

But Frank couldn't help but pick out the question in his tone, and he ran back through it again, all the briefing Madani had done on Wilson Fisk's daughter, figuring a hundredth time wouldn't hurt anything. This wasn't supposed to be the hard part.

"You know, you say that like I haven't done this before."

"And it's like you said." Curtis' words were firm but kind. "It's been a while."

 _Go get her, Frank_ , said Lieberman into their comms, and Frank came just shy of tossing his earpiece altogether. Times like these, he almost missed flying solo, not giving two fucks about breaking the rules. For a while, there were no rules, after he'd lost what he lost.

But he'd promised Curt he was getting his act back together, and if that involved playing nice, being the good guy and all that shit, so be it.

"Remember, if this thing goes south—"

Frank grunted a "Yeah, yeah," taking the steps two at a time to get Curt's voice out of his head. He was striding up to the curb just as Fisk's car pulled up, windows tinted black and reflecting the sunset back into his eyes.

He reached for the door, gripped the handle, and pulled.

He had to blink several times before he knew what he was looking at.

She was – goddamn, she was beautiful.

Even at this angle, with her turned slightly away from him, he catalogued as much as he could, letting it slow-burn its way into his memory.

Her pale, delicate features, lips full and tainted a bare shade of pink. Blonde hair pulled into some kind of twist down by the side of her neck. The slender curve of her shoulders, sloping down into these sheer elbow-length sleeves.

Her dress was simple, sleek and blue, and it brought out the sky in her eyes when she finally turned and glanced up at him.

She was, in fact, even more stunning than all the photos and tabloids had prepared him for, and Frank was utterly caught off guard for a moment, finally managing a nod and a rough-sounding "Evening, ma'am."

She looked almost – bored wasn't exactly the right word for it, but she didn't seem particularly moved by this first impression of him either, rearranging her shawl in a preoccupied fashion before gliding a leg down to the ground.

She chose not to notice the hand he extended to help her out of the car, and for the first time that Frank could recall, he didn't know what to do with his body, how to stand, where his hands were supposed to go now as she eased past him onto the sidewalk.

"You must be my new security detail." She said it matter-of-factly, without much feeling behind it, but there was something tired about the way she squared her shoulders at him, head tilting.

"Yeah," said Frank, feeling more and more like a complete imbecile the longer she stood next to him. He wanted to cringe, just to picture the shit his friends must be thinking at his expense right now. "Yeah, that'd be me."

She was watching him closely, and he knew she was waiting, for him to crane his neck around the door and realize that she'd come here alone.

"He'll be in the other car," she said finally. "He was running a little bit late. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, ma'am." Frank looked her in the eye as he said it. "I'm here for your protection, and yours alone."

He was still having a hard time reading her, whether or not she doubted the sincerity in his tone. She crossed her arms, handbag jangling slightly with the motion. "So what do I call you?"

"Uh. Pete." He cleared his throat. For whatever reason that he wasn't going to dwell on right now, lying to her about his name sat strangely with him, and he moved to close the door in order to avoid looking at her as he said it. "Pete Castiglione. Ma'am."

There was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth when he turned to face her again, like something about him was amusing to her. "It's Karen."

"Right. Of course, m—" and he gave her a sheepish look as she bit her lip at him, a full smile starting to bloom as though against her will. "Sorry. I may have to call you ma'am at least one more time."

"Well, then. Mr. Castiglione." There was a slyness to the way she drew the name out, like it was some secret between the two of them. It was probably then that Frank should've realized Karen Fisk was going to be a hell of a lot more than he'd bargained for. "Shall we?"

"At your service." He held out his arm, unthinking –  _Jesus, Frank, act like her bodyguard, not her date to the prom_  came with a half-choked laugh in his ear that he'd make Lieberman pay for later – but Karen only settled her hand in his elbow and smiled.

"You're not what I was expecting."

He let out a low chuckle as they ascended the stairs. "That bad, huh?"

"Jury's still out," she told him, perfectly deadpan.

"Sounds promising."

She was smiling again. "I'll have to get back to you."

They were nearing the door where Curtis stood watch, and Frank carefully ducked his head down, knowing full well the look his friend would have to refrain from making – silent, and entirely exasperated with him.

"Do you mind holding this for a second?"

Frank took her handbag, gold chains weighing heavy as she slid out of her shawl, gauzy blue to go with the sleeves of her dress. Three feet away from them, Curtis coughed into his hand, and Frank was willing to bet that David's camera eyes had not left them for a moment either.

Karen drew closer to him, and he couldn't register much beyond the bare swath of her collarbone, the lightest tease of her perfume – soft, something floral – before she was stepping back again, tucking her handbag over one shoulder.

"Trade you," she said, and he looked down to find the shawl in his hands, unable to hold back a disbelieving laugh as he folded it over his arm.

"You coming?" She arched an eyebrow before turning away, and Frank hastened after her, endeavoring not to meet Curt's eye as he passed him through the door.

There was a whole other world across the threshold, the air transforming almost instantaneously into something thick and cloying. He was sorely misplaced here, he knew. Always had been. Madani had taken precautions not to assign him to go undercover at events like these again, after. Before he'd completely gone off the rails.

He'd still take the grit of an alleyway over this kind of bullshit any day.

Karen hadn't made it far. She'd already been flagged down by a middle-aged couple, so Frank hovered some steps behind, feeling vaguely irritable. The man flashed some cufflinks that probably cost a small island, and Frank didn't much like the way he was eyeballing Karen whenever the wife looked away, but it was his job to be inconspicuous. To lurk in the background while—

"And this is my friend from undergrad, Pete," Karen was saying, and Frank blinked at her, hard, as she gestured him over. "Pete. Come on, don't be shy."

 _It was nice knowing you, Frank_ , said Lieberman cheerfully into his ear.

Karen took him by the hand, and he stared down his arm at their joined fingers, a strange warmth prickling upward, like this hand did not belong to him, this body was no longer his.

Christ, he really was done for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i am admittedly terrible at au's, but if y'all are interested in more let me know - i have some fun things for them in mind!
> 
> fic and chapter titles taken from 'you should see me in a crown' by billie eilish.
> 
> as always, please feel free to come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://ninzied.tumblr.com)!


	2. wearing a warning sign

"Pete, these are the Rosenbaums." Karen said it like it was supposed to mean something to him, so Frank did his best impression of a smile and shook the guy's hand, kissed the lady's for good measure.

_They have like a wing and a half of the building named after them_ , David's voice muttered helpfully to him.  _The wife is more or less shipping industry royalty. Husband actually took her name, along with the kids._

_Progressive of him_ , said Curtis.  _But what's with the half?_

"So you and Karen went to Columbia together?" asked Mr. Rosenbaum, in a tone that was almost too perfectly pleasant.

"Sure did," said Frank.

"Oh, Morningside's beautiful this time of year, isn't it?" Mrs. Rosenbaum gave a delighted kind of sigh, linking arms with her husband and looking wistfully up at him for a moment. "Renley and I used to spend many an afternoon in that park, being—" her eyes practically twinkled "—late to class, if you know what I mean."

_Jesus_ , David groaned, and for once Frank could not agree more.  _Whatever, just go with it._

"Those benches by the gazebo," Frank said, and Mrs. Rosenbaum clapped her hands together, looking joyfully reminiscent. "Great spot to get some, uh, studying done. Managed to get Karen to come with me a couple times, but she took the study part pretty seriously, so."

_Well, shit_ , said David.  _Not what I meant, in the slightest, but all right._

Karen was gazing at him with a curious half-smile, angling inward to rest her other hand over his arm. A frisson of something crept up his spine, and he had the vague sense again that this wasn't supposed to be a normal reaction just to being touched by someone. "Credit where credit is due, Pete. I think I got the idea eventually."

That name had never sounded more wrong to him.

Mrs. Rosenbaum was beaming at them both, but her husband was slower to warm, leaning slightly forward to ask, "And what was it that you said you studied, again?" He swept him up and down with a sharply honed gaze, lingering pointedly over Frank's earpiece.

Frank felt the corner of his eye give a twitch. "Can't say that I did."

_The hell is with this guy?_  Curtis's voice was indignant.  _As if he belongs here any more than you do._

Thanks for that, Curt. Frank had to refrain from rolling his eyes.

But then Karen's hand migrated over to his chest, and the warmth there was sudden, unsteadying him. She looked at Mr. Rosenbaum, her tone quite cool in contrast as she said to him, "Actually, Pete has a degree in criminal justice."

Frank hadn't really been expecting her to lie on his behalf, let alone tell a lie that was this damn close to home. Someone whistled low in his ear, he couldn't tell who, but it was already taking him more than enough effort to hold back his own incredulous laugh.

"Well," said Mr. Rosenbaum, "It's certainly gotten him far, I can tell," with a tightness to his smile that even his wife appeared to see through, scolding him violently under her breath.

" _Renley_."

She looked apologetic, but Karen was already leading Frank off, calling serenely over her shoulder, "We'll see you inside? I'll give my father your regards when he's here."

She could've doused him in all the ice from those wine buckets and it would have fazed him less. That he had forgotten, even for seconds, the reason why he was here – the mission, the takedown – because he'd let himself get caught off guard…

Problematic, to say the least. More so now that he couldn't stop picturing the look on her face, if this didn't somehow go further south, and she knew the truth by the end of the night.

Karen marched straight for the booze, letting go of Frank's arm before grabbing up two flutes of champagne. "Here." She drank hers down in long, measured sips, head tilted back and exposing her neck as she swallowed.

Frank stared hard at his glass, watching the bubbles dance up to the surface and fizzle slowly out. "I, uh, probably shouldn't—"

"That's okay. It wasn't for you." She traded her flute for his, clinking them together in a dry kind of toast before knocking back the second. "Thanks."

Frank relieved them of their glasses to a passing waiter with a tray, and as their arms grazed he felt a slight tremor, her expression strained as she looked away from him. He almost put out a hand to her before drawing back, carefully making a fist at his side.

She blew out a breath, shaking her head as she told him, "I…am so sorry."

He frowned, brows knitting together. "Didn't think you had anything to apologize for."

"I do," Karen insisted. "For their behavior, and – for mine. For throwing you in with the wolves. I'm sorry." She bit her lip, going for something a bit lighter this time. "I guess I could've warned a guy first."

Frank ducked his chin to his chest, raising his eyes to level with hers. "This some kind of hazing ritual you put all your bodyguards through?"

"Nope. You would be the first," she said.

He let out a chuckle. "Should I be flattered?"

"First bodyguard, I mean."

Frank cursed inwardly. Right. Of course. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't—" And now he was going to have to apologize for his absolute asinine manners as well, this was all just fucking great.

But she only quirked a smile at him, and he marveled, not for the first time, what she could possibly find to be so damn amusing about a guy like him. "I take it you heard."

"Wouldn't be doing my job if I hadn't."

Truth be told, even Madani hadn't needed to fill in too many gaps on that one. It wasn't like he lived under some rock, as even Lieberman their token hermit friend took great pleasure in saying about him; Frank had seen the news, the day a gang war broke out in Hell's Kitchen, just as Wilson Fisk's daughter was leaving a shop down the street.

Back then, he'd been surprised to learn that Fisk would let anything precious to him out of his sight for a second unguarded. But now that he'd met Karen, the only thing Frank found shocking was that she'd tolerated his presence this long.

"Fair enough," she told him, and goddamn her eyes were so blue. "You passed, by the way."

Frank laughed at that, the sound low and brief but a laugh all the same. "Pretty sure the next guy will thank me for setting the bar this low."

Something fleeting crossed her face, drawing a line between her brows, and he wanted to kick himself as he watched that smile fade the slightest degree. "Are you planning to go somewhere, Pete?"

"Just that—" Frank shrugged a shoulder, gave her a rueful half-grin. "In case your father disapproves."

Karen looked down, fingering the edge of a sleeve as she asked him, "Would you take it as a compliment if I told you that he probably would?"

_Back it up, Frank_ , David warned.  _Back it up_.

"That right? I'm sure he'd have his reasons."

Karen  _mmm_ ed, nodding in a semi-grave way that Frank wasn't sure if he was supposed to take seriously or not.

"You know, you're, uh," and Frank cleared his throat, probably looking about as stupid as he felt at the moment, fumbling to bring back the right mood. "You're not what I expected either."

_Nice save, man_ , said Curtis, and what Frank would've given to be able to turn and scowl at him through the door.

Karen regarded him a second longer, and then she was the one offering her arm to him this time. "Good," she said simply. "Want to escort me to dinner?"

He paused before taking her arm. "Don't recall this being in the job description."

She tilted her head at him, brushing a loose lock of hair from her face. "Do you mind?"

Frank had to look away for a moment, biting back another smile. "No, ma'am."

_You're gonna need to be a little more careful with her_ , muttered Curt as they made their way across the lobby, joining the slow-trickling crowd that was funneling through another set of double doors.

No shit, thought Frank, as Karen waved at some other couple in passing, and he was about to follow her in when David's voice crackled back into earshot.

_He's here. Fisk is here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://ninzied.tumblr.com)!


	3. wait 'til the world is mine

If Frank had been feeling like a fish out of water before they even entered the museum, it wasn't shit compared to what the rest of the place had in store.

The further Karen led him inside, the hotter it seemed to get, swarming and stuffy with the smells of too many things that likely cost more than anything he'd ever owned in his life. He got more than the occasional side glance, some of them not even bothering to be polite about it, and he wouldn't have normally given two fucks, but with Karen beside him, it mattered, somehow.

And then Fisk.

The way his stomach had dead-dropped at the mention of Fisk's name told Frank two things. One, that a part of him must have hoped that for whatever kind of reason, Fisk wasn't going to show. Which only went on to mean that Frank was in it even deeper than he'd let himself believe.

Someone jostled him walking by, and Karen reached out a hand to steady him, palm pressing into his side for the briefest of seconds – just enough to send him reeling for one second longer, a shock of warmth spreading deep in his core.

"Sorry," said Karen, and there was another small jolt as he registered how near her voice was to him. If he turned, she would be right there, close enough to—

"My people are animals." She gave him a rueful half-smile.

 _Lady, you have no idea_ , muttered David on Frank's other side. He clenched his jaw to fight back a wave of guilt this time, oily-hot and slick in his stomach.  _The things your dad has done_.

He wanted to tell him to give it a rest, but Curtis came through with a  _Hey. Let's just take a minute to get where we need to, all right? Fisk will get what's coming to him_.

They passed through the first set of doors into what looked like an exhibit, and the lights blanked out all of a sudden, like a curtain drawn closed on the room. It was a welcome darkness while his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, and he took a moment just to breathe again.

"Look," whispered Karen, pointing upward. His gaze followed hers, and hundreds of white paper cranes blinked into focus, suspended from the ceiling with strings that were too thin to see in this lighting. Their shadows hit the opposite wall in clean, sharp lines, but as Frank squinted and moved, they seemed to move with him and their edges softened.

"He had them flown in from Japan for my stepmother."

Karen's tone matched her face, both pleasantly blank, impossible to read into either of them. Frank wanted to ask her – what her relationship was like with her father, how he had raised her, if she knew what kind of man he was.

There were other things he wanted to know about her too, things that would never show up in Madani's damn files. Things that had nothing to do with Fisk at all, and that made her dangerous too, maybe even more so than anything else in some ways.

This night could only end badly.

He breathed in, out, in again, trying to shake off the buzz of dread up his spine. It made him restless, on edge, until he thought it might have choked him if he hadn't reached up to loosen his tie half an inch.

"Are you okay?" Karen drew closer, peering at him with some concern, and that was the last thing that Frank wanted – those blue eyes looking at him like he was more than just some guy-for-hire on her arm. Which begged another question as to why he'd her take his hand like that to begin with.

It was those eyes, he thought. And the hair, probably, how it followed the curve of her shoulder, smelling faintly like roses whenever she turned a certain way. And maybe, yeah, maybe the dress had something to do with it too, the barely-there fabric, clinging to skin in these long, graceful lines.

Frank looked away. It wasn't just the dress. It wasn't just any of those things.

"Pete?"

"Haven't done this in a while," he grunted in admission, the same thing he'd said to Curtis outside – and come to think of it, fuck him too, he was the one who'd dragged Frank back into all this. The one who'd wanted to make him whole again, make him human.

"Haven't done what?" Karen asked drily. "Looked at pretentious art?"

It startled a chuckle out of him, and he shook his head at her, half a smile starting to form in spite of his mood. "Hey, you said it. But, uh, no, it's not that. It's—" He gestured at himself, adjusting his tie with some chagrin and wondering if he could get by without having to redo the whole damn thing.

"Here." Karen pulled him aside, away from the crowd before he could protest too much. She stationed him by some art on the wall – a painting of a tan-colored square that was completely lost on him, but he stared hard at it anyway as she reached for his tie. "You looked like you wanted to kill something."

There was a badly muffled cough in Frank's ear that sounded suspiciously like Lieberman.

"Hey," said Frank, voice low. "It's all right, you don't have to—"

She'd loosened the knot, but instead of realigning the ends she gave a slow tug, sliding the tie out of his collar. "There."

He blinked at her as she folded it up, slipping it into her handbag. "It's too bad," she remarked. "Half the guys here only wish they could look this good in a suit."

Frank had no clue how to respond to that, so all he said was, "They're not gonna kick me out for taking that off?" He was only half-joking; he wouldn't put it past them, the one percent of the one percent, and he'd have a hell of a time explaining how it went down to Madani.

"If anyone asks," said Karen, a hint of mischief in her tone, "I'll tell them I have something special planned for it later. That'll get them to stop asking."

Christ.

"That what this is for, too?" He said it without thinking, lifting the arm where he'd draped her shawl. A flush rose up to his ears as she turned, and he was going to have to figure something out, like how to not put his foot in his mouth every time he tried to talk to her.

"Mr. Castiglione." She took his elbow with a sly-forming smile. "Shall we?"

…

The banquet venue was nothing like he could've imagined.

It was hard even for him not to pause and appreciate the view, wide-roomed with wrap-around windows opening out to a lush green terrace. There were fancy lights emitting a soft glow from the ceiling, and countless rustic-looking wooden tables arrayed across the hall. A small ensemble had set up their instruments in a far corner, playing light orchestral-type music as people moved about toward their seats.

He could say at least this about Wilson Fisk: the man knew how to throw a party.

Frank let Karen take the lead. He wouldn't have known the first thing about finding the right table, and this was her world anyway, her people, her life. He'd remind himself of it as many times as he needed for it to finally settle; he'd only been loaned a place here. The fucking suit wasn't even his.

He caught sight of Curtis halfway into their trek through the room. He was installed at one of the side doors that led out to the gardens, looking casually alert to his surroundings. The rest of their guys were in position, but Madani had chosen them well. Nobody would've been able to pick them out of the crowd unless they knew exactly what they were looking for.

Mrs. Rosenbaum gave them a wave from her table, her husband either too deep in conversation or too much of an asshole to do the same. Frank kept an eye and ear out for everyone else aiming to greet Karen as they walked by, but she excused herself kindly, graciously, with a full-watted smile each time.

"I don't know how you do it with these people." Shit. There he went again, running his goddamn mouth around her.

Karen said to him, in between one smile and the next, "I wish I could say it just comes with practice."

He smirked. "Let me guess, still doesn't get any easier?"

"It's a hard life, I know."

Frank glanced over, saw the way her smile wasn't quite meeting her eyes anymore. "I didn't mean it like that."

He hadn't realized he'd stopped walking until she nudged him forward a step, never letting go of his arm. "You're allowed to hurt my feelings, Pete. It's okay, I can take it."

Frank turned to look at her again, brow furrowed, but she – Christ, she was  _trying_  not to smile this time, making a point of glancing away to scan the room for their table.

"I see us, come on."

He didn't have to ask how she knew, as they approached and he got a closer look for himself. It stood indistinguishable from all the other tables apart from the floral arrangements, carnations and lilies and other green-stemmed things replaced by single vases of dark red roses.

There was something about them that Frank didn't care for, though he couldn't quite put a finger on why. He might not have given it a second thought if it were any other table, but knowing Fisk must've insisted on a more personal touch, he could only see them as vulgar, tainted. Bloodstained.

Karen went to her seat, and Frank pulled it out for her before stepping away, ready to station himself off to the side somewhere.

She turned her head expectantly at him, and he stared at her back for several long seconds before his gaze drifted down to the seat next to hers. There, on a small ivory card, a  _Mr. Pete Castiglione_  had been penned in flourishing cursive.

"Is that not you?" asked Karen, arching a brow as Frank went on standing there, staring down at the place setting like it was something foreign to him. Which, name notwithstanding, entirely was; what could he possibly need that many damn forks for, but only one kind of spoon? Where the hell had this even…?

"Mr. Castiglione. What a pleasure it is to have you join us for the evening."

Frank glanced sharply up, and every nerve in his body stood to sudden attention as Fisk appeared at the end of the table. He was already a tall man, but his hard, inscrutable features, and the way that he wore his suit, made him appear at least a head taller. Everything about him was imposing, like he took up more space than he had any right to, and only wanted more.

"Sir." He reached over and shook his hand. Fisk's grip was firm, tight, and Frank gripped back in kind, not letting go until he sensed Fisk start to pull away. "Pleasure's all mine. Thank you for having me."

"And hello to you, dear one." Fisk shifted towards Karen, who leaned in with her cheek for him to kiss. "I trust you're being well taken care of."

"I'm in excellent hands."

"The hands of a former Marine and decorated soldier." Fisk leveled his gaze back to Frank's, his tone impassive as ever, but his upper lip gave a twitch, and Frank knew he was waiting for some kind of reaction from him. "Yes, I should hope so. For a man who served in – Iraq first, I believe, then Afghanistan some time later – I imagine this must be quite the deviation for you."

The man had clearly done his vetting, which Madani had anticipated; for anyone who knew how to look deep enough, Pete Castiglione was not so different from Frank Castle, at least as far as the books officially went.

Frank inclined his head toward Fisk. "Happy to be here, sir."

 _Easier to lie when it's mostly the truth_ , Madani had told him when he raised an eyebrow at her.  _Besides – Castle, quit looking at me like that – everyone deserves a chance to start over_.

Pete's social footprint, on the other hand – carefully curated by Lieberman himself – gave the impression of one who had a life, who had friends. Who liked the Mets, and went bowling on weekends.

 _Even gave you a sense of humor_ , David had said with a shit-eating grin.

_Yeah? Something funny to you about how this bowling league of mine's never won a single game?_

He hadn't gone so far as to give Frank a new family. David knew well enough that some lines just couldn't be crossed.

"I can make no promises that you'll be awarded another Navy Cross for your services rendered today." Fisk's voice was soft, the kind of soft that demanded to be heard. "But you have my sincerest gratitude, both for keeping my daughter safe, and for all that you've done for this country."

It was almost impressive, how Fisk could spin a compliment around to make it sound so damn patronizing, like he was addressing the butler instead.

"It's an honor. Sir."

Fisk gave him something like a smile, thin-lipped and flat. There was nothing convincing about it, but Frank smiled back all the same – he could play the muscle here, pretend he didn't have much going on up top, so long as it kept Fisk complacent. So long as it kept Karen safe.

"I didn't see Vanessa come in with you." A waiter was coming around with uncorked bottles of wine, and Karen held out a glass for the red before going on. "Is she still feeling under the weather?"

"Yes, I'm afraid Vanessa won't be able to make it tonight. She sends her regrets, and will see you at home." Fisk looked somber as he said it, with all the gravity of one making a funeral announcement. It was impossible for Frank to see any familial resemblance between him and Karen. He had none of her warmth, or even any kind of desire to pretend that he did.

Mob bosses worth millions could stand to be a little short on charm, he supposed.

"Wesley, however," said Fisk, "should be by shortly."

It was near-imperceptible, and Frank might not have noticed it if he hadn't been looking at her just then. Karen's shoulders went stiff, the edge of her glass still poised at her mouth, but she barely wet her lips with it before setting the wine back down.

"Wonderful," she said.

She wouldn't meet his eye when Frank glanced sideways at her, but the sharpness in her stance made him reach for her, a hand at the small of her back under the pretense of guiding her into her seat.

His palm grazed bare skin – the damn dress she had on took a much lower dip down the middle than he'd bargained for – and she did look at him this time, though she made no move to pull away.

He had another apology half-ready to go on his tongue when Fisk said, "Ah, here he is," and a man in a suit with wire-framed glasses strode over to stand by his side.

"I trust everything is in order," said Fisk, and James Wesley murmured something into his ear that Frank couldn't quite make out – but then Fisk was nodding, and turning around to address them again. "If you will excuse me, daughter, I must go prepare for my speech. Mr. Castiglione—"

"Sir."

"I leave Wesley here at your disposal, should you need his assistance on any matter that pertains to my daughter's safety."

"Oh, I'm sure Mr. Castiglione has it all under control," said Wesley, in an utterly bland tone. The look he exchanged with Fisk was nothing remarkable either, couldn't have lasted more than a second, but it put a bad taste in Frank's mouth all the same.

He would've given anything then to slip away for a minute, speak freely with David and Curtis about – whatever this was, this feeling he couldn't quite shake that something was somehow more than it was. Just to hear them talk him down, tell him it wasn't his job to be the paranoid one today.

But by this point they'd be fully preoccupied. Even now, Curtis was making another casual sweep of the room, eyes on Fisk as he moved across. David was no doubt running last-minute tactical with the rest of the team, and as it was, leaving Karen alone was completely out of the question anyway.

He just didn't like the way she was looking around this guy. James Wesley had been Fisk's right hand man for years, was even painted by the press as a part of the family at this point; he'd been the one to give all the statements on Fisk's behalf when his first wife – when Karen's mother – had died in that boating accident three summers past.

"Hey, switch with me."

Karen glanced at him with genuine surprise. "What?"

"I use my left when I eat," he told her, which he supposed he could make true enough. "Don't want to be bumping elbows with you the whole time."

She gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing, but she let him redirect her toward his chair anyway. She touched his shoulder briefly as she passed, smiling when he bent down to sweep the train of her dress out of the way. The sheerness of it went higher up than he was expecting, revealing long stretches of leg in between the strategically embroidered flowers.

Frank backed away, clearing his throat as he folded her shawl over the back of her chair.

"He's a gentleman, too," Wesley remarked, and Frank felt a muscle twitch in his jaw on reflex. "You two seem to be getting along well."

"Pete's been very accommodating."

Wesley's smile looked like it had seen better days. "I'm sure."

They took their seats, each of them unbuttoning their suit jackets first, and Frank felt Wesley's gaze on him, like something that crawled with too many legs.

"Are you not a fan of black-tie events, Mr. Castiglione?"

"Nah," said Frank. He refrained from slouching back in his seat, if only for Karen's benefit. "Never much saw the point in 'em, to be honest."

Another server had come by with wine, and Frank was about to reach for a glass when he remembered that there were four of them, all of varying shapes and sizes, and it was not immediately obvious to him what kind of purpose they each served.

And in the span of him realizing this, Karen had already tipped her head back toward the waiter. "He'll have the red," she told him, and Frank looked on with some chagrin as the bottle appeared at his shoulder and filled up the middle glass halfway.

"Thank you, sir."

"I wouldn't worry about it," said Wesley, motioning for the white himself. "You weren't hired to know the difference."

Frank saw the edge to her flatness as Karen turned around to say something back, and he carefully angled himself toward Wesley, blocking her from view. He heard her let out a quiet huff from behind, and bit back a grin before saying, "That right? And you, uh – you hired to keep an eye on me  _all_  night, or?"

There was something freeing about the fact that Curt and them had better things to do than eavesdrop on him and this shitbag right now.

"How do you mean?"

"Well. Only that you've done your research, and you and I both know I'm a perfectly capable guy – knowledge about the finer points of glassware notwithstanding, of course. But then again, you're the one who ordered the pinot grig, which, can't help you there, man." Frank chuckled to give the impression that he was joking, and Wesley gave him a tight-lipped smile in return.

"I'm afraid I still don't follow."

"The way I see it, you can spend the rest of your evening babysitting the both of us here, or you can relax, go and have yourself a good time as well."  _If you know what that looks like_ , he had to keep from adding out loud. Christ, Curt was going to be so done with him.

"You make a fair point."

"'Sides, with you here, who's going to be looking out for the boss man? Just seems an odd choice, to pin you back here." Frank took a sip of his wine, taking care to avoid whatever kind of look Karen was giving him now.

Another pause, another server came to their table, this time with two trays of hors d'oeuvres. Wesley snapped back a cuff before selecting a small slice of steak on some bread with a smearing of horseradish cream on top, the red bleeding through to both sides.

"Mr. Fisk has priorities, and his daughter is one of them." Wesley chewed, giving a delicate swallow before touching a pinky to the corner of his mouth. "You really can't be too careful."

Frank leaned both his elbows onto the table, feeling a small lick of satisfaction when Wesley's gaze dipped down with some disdain at the movement. "You worried about something?"

Wesley gave him a tolerant smile. "Comes with the territory. I'm sure you of all people can understand that. Scout sniper, right? Always on the lookout?"

"Listen, if there's something I need to know about my charge—"

"Jesus," sighed Karen. She was halfway through her glass, beckoning someone nearby to come top it off. "I'm right here, but please continue."

"If there's some threat that's been made—"

"Mr. Castiglione, I can assure you if that were the case, I would be the least of your worries."

"I sure as hell hope so," said Frank in a perfectly affable tone, and he lifted his glass to him, dipping his head. "Cheers to that."

"Indeed."

"Here, Pete." Karen had slid a few things onto his plate, some rotation of different-colored things on top of those same little bite-sized pieces of bread. "Why don't you eat something for a while."

He turned to pull a face at her.  _Too much?_

She gave him a dour look in return, as if to say,  _You think?_

His mouth twitched up half in apology, but truthfully he didn't feel very sorry at all. At best, this guy was already some grade A kind of asshole. At worst – Frank let his thoughts run unchecked for a moment, imagining the worst of things this guy might've done. He couldn't be blind to the things Fisk had done either, and that alone made him complicit.

That he might've messed with Karen too—

He didn't realize he'd started tapping out an agitated rhythm on his knee until she quietly moved her hand over his, drawing it just as casually back once he'd finally settled down.

"Look, it's like he said." Frank jerked a thumb back at Wesley, eyes never straying from Karen's. He felt as though she'd looked straight past the bullshit and stared directly into his soul. Without judgment or question, even when there were things about him she couldn't possibly know – things that might have her looking differently, if she did.

Karen smiled in amusement. "Pete, it's just a party."

Frank had a feeling that he and Wesley both knew this party was anything but just that. "Still, you can't be too careful with these things."

"These things?" Karen echoed, an eyebrow going just slightly pointed at the end.

"Whatever happened outside that deli you went to, on the afternoon of June ninth, cannot happen to you again. And it won't, not on my watch."

He'd half-expected a scoffing sound out of Wesley, but the response that he got was steady, measured out in calm, careful increments. "Are you suggesting that there might be a pattern if it did?"

"Only saying it would be a hell of a coincidence, is all." Frank had mostly been talking out of his ass, trying to get a better read on the guy, but this sudden change in demeanor was a more interesting one than he'd bargained for. "Unless there's something else you want to tell me."

Wesley opened his mouth, but Karen beat him to it. "All right, enough, the both of you. Pete, you're being incredibly paranoid."

"Mr. Castiglione is only doing the job he's being paid for." Wesley was unfolding and refolding his napkin over his lap in very precise, military-like motions. "Let him have his moment."

"I appreciate that."

A young couple had approached them on the other side of the table, waving amiably to Karen. Frank couldn't read their name cards from where he was sitting, but Wesley was removing his napkin to stand up and greet them.

"Just keep her away from the pastrami this time," he said inexplicably over his shoulder to Frank, before turning away with an entirely different voice: "Miss Stahl! And Mr. Nelson, great to see you again. Please—" and he was gesturing toward the seat next to him, pulling it out for Miss Stahl as she thanked him with a blinding white smile.

Wesley said some other things, but Frank had tuned him out. Beside him, Karen was going through the motions, first a friendly nod back at the couple, then adjusting her fork as the salads came out. Frank schooled his expression into one of casual preoccupation, staring down at his own forks, but all he saw was Karen's stillness, the way she seemed glazed over, unfocused.

Frank picked up his wine glass with his right hand and turned, elbow angled toward her as he said, "So which of these is it, again?"

"Oh—" Karen started, brought abruptly back from wherever her thoughts had taken her, and as she faced him her shoulder brushed against his elbow. The glass tipped, wine sluicing out, and Karen gasped in horror as it dribbled down the lapel of his jacket, narrowly avoiding his shirt.

"I'm so sorry." She grabbed up a napkin to dab at the wine, as the Nelson guy peered around a vase of red roses at them.

"A little club soda can go a long way," he said helpfully. He was plump-faced and floppy-haired, and significantly more cheerful than the average person at this party. "Can I go grab you some?"

"Nah, it's okay, I got this but thanks – hey." Frank ducked his head toward Karen, and she made a small sighing sound, still patting defeatedly at his jacket. "I'll stop in the bathroom, take care of the rest."

Karen's hand stilled, and her eyes met his as he tried for sheepish and said, "Thing is that I'm, uh – technically not allowed to let you leave my sight."

The wine-drenched suit was worth it alone for the smile she gave him. "Well I guess I'll just have to take you there myself."

If Wesley had something to say about them going, he never got the chance. The Stahl lady had him trapped in conversation, bringing in Nelson to make some point more emphatic, and they made their escape without issue, Karen grabbing her own glass of wine as they went.

"In case I need to spill some more on you later," she told him, teasingly conspiratorial.

They were pointed down a hall when she stopped for directions, and Frank felt himself breathe just a bit easier as soon as they'd cleared the crowd. The hallway lighting was dark but warm-toned, and aside from some security personnel stationed farther down, the way was entirely deserted.

Karen poked her head into the women's restroom before declaring it empty and ushering him inside. "I think you said more to Wesley in two minutes than I've heard out of you in the last two hours."

"Yeah? Wouldn't get used to it." He gave her a crooked kind of grin as she slid her handbag onto the countertop, chains clinking into the marble.

There were thickly folded paper towels in a basket by the sink, and she dampened one under the faucet, waving him closer so she could reach him more easily.

Frank wondered if Curt had noticed them walking out.

Frank wondered if he even cared.

"You know what I like about you, Pete?"

"No, ma'am." He quirked another smile at her when she rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him. "Can't say that I do."

"You're honest," said Karen. She had his lapel in between her hands now, pressing a dry paper towel to soak up the moisture. It came back mostly clear this time, and she looked satisfied but didn't move back right away like he'd been anticipating. He tried to breathe through it – couldn't tell if it was her shampoo, or some kind of perfume she was wearing, but it kept going straight to his head. "There's something trustworthy about you."

"I don't know that it's anything to write home about it," he told her, which was certainly true, though he hated that it was the best thing he could do in the moment.

"You're the only person here who isn't pretending to be someone they're not." She tossed the towels into an open wastebasket, smoothing down his lapel and tugging it just a millimeter to the right. "Aren't you?"

She said it without any particular meaning in her tone, like it was something rhetorical, but it had him shifting a little regardless, rocking side to side on his feet as she turned away to rinse off her hands.

"They can't be all bad."

"The lawyer's okay," she allowed.

"That Nelson guy?" He hadn't seemed like the corporate type – too friendly, too earnest, with his quirky uncle-like vibes, but Frank had been wrong about people before.

"No. I mean – he's a lawyer too, but I don't know him all that well. He's just here to look good on Marci's arm tonight." She smiled, almost to herself, like a joke he wasn't in on.

"They're not who I'd've pictured together," admitted Frank.

"They make it work," said Karen, looking wistful for a moment.

She touched a hand to her hair, ran a finger down the side of her jaw as she examined herself in the mirror, but there was nothing to fix, and he knew she was stalling. He was in no big rush to get back himself, but the things he wanted to ask her – what the hell Wesley had meant about the pastrami, for one – were the things she'd come here to escape.

Frank turned around, leaning his back into the edge of the counter. "That's good," was all he said. It sounded – stupidly inadequate, but he meant it genuinely.

She stretched her neck back, glancing at him with a wry sort of smile. "You ready to quit yet?"

He shook his head. "Hey. Don't do that."

"Ready to go back, then?"

Frank smiled sideways at her. "Not really. You?"

She started to speak, but the piece in his ear caught some feedback, and he turned his attention from her for a second. For the first time, Karen looked halfway interested in what was going on on the other end, patiently resting her forearms over the counter as she watched him.

_It's almost go-time, Fisk's about to take the stage. Frank, where you at?_

_His girl took him to the ladies' room to freshen up_ , said Lieberman with a smirk in his voice.

_He – what?_

Frank ignored them both, leaning onto his elbow to look over at Karen. "Speech's about to start."

"I've heard it," she said. Neither of them made a move to leave. "Some variation of it, anyway. It's always the same."

"His, uh. Crusade for the homeless?" He kept his tone even, irony at bay.

Karen sighed, and shrugged a wan shoulder at him. "People love being given a cause."

"You don't approve?"

"When their charitable donations are actually funding things like million-dollar origami exhibitions?" She gave him a meaningful look before turning away, back toward the mirror as she gazed at her reflection, unseeing. "Would you? Doesn't get much more pointless than that."

She didn't know, Frank thought. She couldn't know that the cranes – that whatever bougie kind of rich people shit that got passed off as art, or culture, or  _doing good_  or what have you – were all just a front for far worse things. Human trafficking. Small-scale acts of terror that got overlooked as local crime, or vigilantes gone rogue. Drug cartels.

Gang-on-gang violence.

Frank drew in a harsh breath.

Fuck.

"Listen, Karen—"

He had half a mind to just take her away from all this. Get her out, let the rest of Homeland put down Fisk for good. He wasn't the running type, unless it was head-on into a shitstorm, but something about this – about her – it just felt right, to fight all his instincts and do the wrong thing, if that's what it took to keep her safe.

Karen took a deep, affirming breath of her own, like she'd just come to some kind of decision, and then she was facing him again, looking oddly determined.

Frank was going to do it. Curt was going to lay it into him, when Lieberman caught him on the security feed and ratted him out. Maybe he'd be out of a job – again. Maybe he could bring himself to give two shits about it later.

He started to speak, but Karen was one step ahead of him.

"Pete." Her voice had dropped a full damn octave, and Frank for the life of him couldn't figure out where he'd gotten the impression that he was the one in charge of things here. "Mind if we take a detour on the way back?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://ninzied.tumblr.com) :D


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